Laughing Matter

Victor had the innate ability to make people roar with laughter at the most awkward times. For a man with such an irreverent sense of humour, who could make the most outrageously funny statements, few people actually remember seeing him laugh out loud himself. Whatever he said was with a completely dead pan expression which somehow made the impact of his words even more hilarious.  

Victor played bridge at the Gorakhpur Club three nights a week with a group of his friends who were avid about the game, and this routine was inviolable no matter what the circumstances. On the rare occasion when for some reason the foursome was incomplete,  they would  reluctantly join the 'puploo' table to wile away time.

There was a particularly featherbrained lady, the wife of one of one of Gorakhpur's' leading contractors, who got on every one's nerves. At the beginning of a deal she would stuff the colored chips deep into her over flowing bra, defying the men to take whatever she owed. Luckily for her, the gentlemen were too polite and embarrassed to oblige.

One evening Victor and his cronies were deeply immersed in a rubber of bridge, when the aforementioned  lady waddled into the card room and in a shrill falsetto demanded to know what the four men were doing. Victor did not even glance at her as he retorted "Masturbating under the table!" Paroxysms of  mirth followed this remark as the lady stormed off  with an indignantly quivering bosom, never to play cards with any of them again!



Fooling Around

 There was a childish game we enjoyed with my father called King of Spain. The rules were elementary -  two people holding lighted candles had to stand at opposite ends of the room facing each other. They then had to walk towards each other very slowly, and when nose to nose one had to say "The King of Spain is Dead", while the other replied "Long Live the King". It was as simple as that, but the whole ceremony had to be done with a completely blank face - no smile, no emotion. My father would take up his position with such a grumpy and disgruntled expression, that hysterical giggles welled uncontrollably even before the ritual had begun. He would glower at us with a down turned mouth, which was the cause of more merriment and crazy cackling. The end result would be side splitting convulsions while he stood  grimly and patiently, holding the candle waiting for one of us to compose ourselves and join him. I have actually witnessed my grandmother Anna, wet her pants because she was shrieking with wild laughter and could not contain herself.

Years later, when I  had a daughter of my own I was often the target of my father's dry humour. I had once gone into the bathroom to change a tampon, when my two year old Sanam, barged in and asked what I was doing. I casually replied that I was using a tampon, and as she was not curious about it I presumed she had forgotten the incident. A few months later, on a visit to Saraya, I noticed her sitting on the carpet stuffing 'Swad' sweets into her pantie. I asked what she was trying to do and she solemnly replied 'I am using a tampon!". I was slightly worried and asked my father if he thought she could unwittingly do any damage to herself by playing like this. He thought it highly unlikely but dryly added, " In any case I have never heard of anyone losing their virginity to a Swad!" I felt a second of exasperation at his matter-of-fact impassivity about his granddaughter, but the comical remark got to me and  unrestrained laughter followed.

We were always an extremely close family and laughter was an integral part of my growing up. From my father I learned to find humour in even the most unpleasant circumstances, and this ability has got me through many trying periods of my life.  After he died, the Majithia's were very keen that all the last rites be performed according to Sikh tradition, and the immersion be done at Hari Ke Patan where others of the family had been sent on their way. My mother and I were flown to Ludhiana in Sati Majithia's private aircraft with Dad's ashes in an urn sitting between us. We disembarked and began walking away from the aircraft, when I realised the vessel was still in the plane, as we each thought the other had picked it up. I turned to mum and said "Oh dear, we have forgotten Dad". We shared a soft chuckle while relatives looked on in shocked disapproval at our lack of respect.

We were completely shattered by my father's death, but humour had always been so much part of his life  that it seemed quite natural to share a laugh even though he was not present anymore. He would have expected nothing less.....